


Folding in and Holding on

by strawberriesandtophats



Series: The Bakery AU [1]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Bakery AU, Everything is better with dogs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:33:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knew that this was not how traditional love stories worked, or at least those he was familiar with. They usually went along the lines of: boy meets girl, various things drive them apart so that they cannot be together, and they fall in love somewhere in between or even near the end. The endings were either sad or happy. They did not even come close to cynical black clad baker-assassin meets grumpy poor copper. Vimes wondered how he got himself into these situations. Established Vetinari/Vimes. Bakery AU Finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Traditional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sannam](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sannam), [theCopperCow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theCopperCow/gifts).



> Please be warned: there is quite a lot more of baking and Wuffles than one might expect.

Sam Vimes was not good with words. Every time he had to write a note to his coworker‘s loved ones about an injury or complete large amounts of paperwork, he would be in trouble, staring at the blank paper until putting one word hesitantly after the other. This was something he had begun to accept as a simple fact of life, when he started noticing that the newest Watch members had started to ask questions in a strange tone of voice downstairs. He continued staring at the paper for several seconds before placing his pen down, a present from Vetinari, who would appear with fresh ones every two weeks or so and put them in a glass jar on top of one of the file cabinets. He would leave the lingering scent of fresh bread and sugary flaking pastry. Lipwig would pinch one every time he visited, both a pastry and a pen. Vimes headed downstairs, his wounds from earlier in the day shouting at him with every step.

There was nothing wrong with asking questions, it was an important aspect of the job, after all. But the questions that were linked to the job were usually questions like: ‘Where were you at seven last night, when the murder was committed?‘ or ‘Have you seen this person before?’ whereas these were in the tone of gossip, and they stopped talking as he entered the canteen, looking over the room.

A few minutes later Fred approached him as Vimes lit his cigar and opened the cupboard to find his tea mug. The scars on his back complained loudly when he moved his arms and he could feel blood leaking between his shoulder blades. His shoulders sagged as he sighed, rubbing his eyes with his free hand as he took a long drag before pouring the tea.

“What are they saying, Fred?” Vimes asked quietly, “Is there new evidence in the Klatch Assassin case?” as he made his way into his office. It was a casual question, and there was nothing but the latest big case on Vimes’s mind when he heard his friend halt in the doorway and closed the door as softly as he could. Sam looked up from his tea, stopping on the edge of Wuffles’s the Terrier’s extra basket, which his baker had insisted be placed in the office if he ever had the occasion of leaving the bakery for any length of time to do business. Vimes had not seen the point of arguing, especially as Vetinari had given him one of his lightning quick true smiles and patted his shoulder companionably when he had nodded. When Wuffles the Terrier was in this basket he would spend his time staring at Vimes and guarding the door proudly, as if taking pleasure in protecting what Angua had once privately let slip Wuffles called him: ‘the master who smells like shaving cream and is my God’s beloved.’

“No, sir,” Sergeant Colon said and shifted uncomfortably and took off his helmet, “it’s more of a personal…thing.”

Captain Vimes turned around, eyes narrowed.

“You see, sir, the new recruits, they’ve been asking where you lived in case they had to contact you if there was trouble, and then they found out about you living above the bakery. Then they started asking about where the baker lived, and well, two blokes living together for such a long time, it gets people talking. The fact that the old terrier is not afraid of our resident werewolf gets around too.”

Sam stared at his old friend, waiting for him to continue and sat down behind his desk. Colon swallowed the rest of his own tea in a large gulp and straightened up.

“It’s not always nice stuff they’re saying about people like that, er, some of it’s rather rude, you know, a bit hanky-panky-“ Colon said as fast and carefully as he could, watching Vimes’s face darken by the second. “But I know you care about, you- when that crazy man poisoned his lordship you went after the bastard with two swords in the dark, screaming when you found him and he resisted arrest, sir!”

“Vetinari has to walk with a cane now,” Vimes muttered, as if to himself, as the voices downstairs were raised in anger and laughter.

Colon tilted his head slightly, he had often noticed that even after all those years of living with the baker, Vimes still referred to him as ‘Lord Vetinari’ or even just ‘Vetinari’ instead of using his surname. But there was a special tone he would use when talking about the thin, black clad man that was somehow different from all the others he used. So Colon never called the baker merely “Vetinari”, being of the opinion that only Vimes should do so.

Vimes rose slowly from behind his paperwork covered desk, surrounded by the smell of cheap tobacco and bad tea. He signaled Carrot that they would go on patrol. He would gather the watchmen later on and speak to them. He was not sure how he was going to approach the subject, though.

He knew that this was not how traditional love stories worked, or at least those he was familiar with. They usually went along the lines of: boy meets girl, various things drive them apart so that they cannot be together, and they fall in love somewhere in between or even near the end. The endings were either sad or happy. They did not even come close to cynical black clad baker-assassin meets grumpy poor copper. Vimes wondered how he got himself into these situations.

The city worked better now in many ways. Not as well as it did in his dreams, Vimes thought as he looked at the Palace in the first rays of sunlight. Sometimes, in those dreams he would place his hand on the knob of the door that led to the ante room in the Patrician’s Palace and close his eyes. The image of Drumknott sitting quietly at a small desk, with a neat jar of paperclips and a stack of paperwork, working and nodding at him to enter the Oblong Office would be so strong that he would lose his breath, which had caused his baker to drag him to Dr Lawn, explaining that he would stop breathing for several seconds and eventually fall on the floor. If the dream continued, he would open the door and walk into the Office, and the tall man at the window would turn around, in his Robes of Office, light blue eyes on Vimes’s brown ones, and Vimes would be overwhelmed with the rightness of this. He could feel the weight of expensive armor on his body, the scent of good soap, and the pleasure at the sight of the flicker of a smile on the other man’s face.

Then he would wake up to the sounds of Wuffles walking around the bedroom, most often on top of his eiderdown and the smell of newly melting chocolate, cinnamon and Vetinari’s shaving cream and he would prefer this over all the rewards, all the medals that he was vaguely aware that he had gained in a world where Lord Vetinari was Patrician. He suspected that this was one of the reasons why the idea of Duty, to him included protecting the taller man with such ferocity that it was almost equal to the Duty of protecting and serving. It was as if it was hardwired into his soul.

Later on in the day after his shift had ended, when the feeling in the small kitchen had become slow and peaceful, he had asked Vetinari, who had been pouring blueberries and raspberries into a piecrust, why he had not taken direct charge and become Patrician. Or why he not become some kind of high-powered agent if he considered himself to be an evil man with a plan to rule, if he wanted to change the world and the city for the better?

And Lord Vetinari had put down the bowl of berries, and placed his hands on the table and stared at Vimes for a long moment. Vimes had sagged slightly, pain and weariness drumming through his body.

“At what cost?” he had asked in return, taking hold of Vimes’s shoulder gently, “what would all of us have to sacrifice in order to live such a life?”

“I don´t know,” Vimes had replied, looking down at his hands, which were holding huge pots for cooking apples intended for pies in. He thought of werewolves and deserts and wars and attempted assassinations, the thoughts arising in his mind like faint mist and then hardening in his mind into the solid steel of certainty of their presence in a life that had Vetinari as his boss.

“Everything?” he had said several moments later, as the taller man had slipped his hand across his shoulders wordlessly. He didn’t see the nod, but he did not need to. He was looking at the clean apron tied around Vetinari’s form, at the flour in his hair and on his wrists. Drumknott could be heard writing down the inventory list and humming faintly.

They stood there in silence for a long time.

People liked stability over a great deal of things, Vimes thought as he took Vetinari’s thin, blue veined hand in his. This was one of the reasons why people always came back to Vetinari’s bakery, for they knew that even if he had changed the menu, there would always be some chocolate cupcakes in the last row. People did not like it if you told them that their treat, which they had depended on eating on Octeday for the last fourteen years, would never be baked again in this life and they had to do with strawberry pudding instead. It was like being hit on the nose by a man who you had nodded at for years on the way to work.

Vimes felt ice run through his veins, blinking rapidly as he tried to ignore the pain in his body and in the understanding that was developing.

“I don´t want you to become-, I just-“Sam muttered, feeling himself shake faintly, “I don´t want to leave, even if that would mean that you could do all this. I want to stay. But I don´t want you to be unhappy with me dragging you down. If you want me to-”

“If I were Patrician and you would be my head watchman, I could ruin your life in the blink of an eye, is that the reason you do not wish me to take that job opportunity?” Vetinari asked briskly, straightening up a little from kneading bread dough, his bare forearms dusty with flour. “Because you would be afraid of me, or cherished me too much to be able to kill me if I would lose my mind?”

“No,” Vimes replied, looking down at his hands, which were calloused and scarred beyond repair, “because if that would be what we would become, there would not be any real room for our…us…this relationship. We would be each other’s official weakness, right? Neither of us would let ourselves …care about the other except in secret or later in life. You know this as well as I do.”

Lord Vetinari was silent and arranged bowls in a more pleasing order on the table in front of him. Stacks of recopies were beside him in alphabetical order. A dwarf from the Thud board fell on its side.

“I do not know,” said the baker softly, “if I would be able to do that. If I would be able to just stop …everything. I decided to work behind the scenes a long time ago, and make the world a better place in other ways than ruling the city. Perhaps that might be considered selfish.”

He gestured over the kitchen, listening to the faint sounds of cakes being sold by Cheery Littlebottom and Clerk Brian. His engagement ring gleamed in the light, and Vimes looked at his own. They did not usually wear them when they were working, because Assassins don´t wear jewelry on the job because it reflects light and bakers do not because it might accidentally come off and go into the batter. Then someone would get a very expensive meal. Vimes had come across a mistake like this several times in his career, once when someone had found one and assumed that the dinner companion was proposing marriage when they weren´t, which had resulted in the house almost burning down as the two fought.

Other people, Vimes thought, were good with words and could say wonderful, loving things out loud to their partners. He could not, not really. Whenever he tried things got messed up and made no sense. But he tried, oh how he tried. He stepped closer to the other man, closing his eyes and swallowing the lump in his throat.

Lady Margolotta, the vampire lady who sometimes visited and played Thud and chess with Vetinari, she could say elegant, fancy things that sounded nice and carefully thought out. She did not have to resort to buying flour at four in the morning or standing in front of dangerous things protecting him. She could say intelligent things without looking up some of the words, and understood his books and his political views better and could probably speak all sorts of languages which he had heard Vetinari speak to customers with big orders.

She was good looking and cultured and not a scarred, street-raised copper who barely left his uniform. He had nightmares about finding the bakery empty, which sometimes elaborated that his baker had left him for her or the crossword lady or even Moist von Lipwig. They were all people who could say ‘I love you’ without stuttering or faltering, who could be moderately loving in public, who said the right things. They could say charming things. Sam tended to say offensive things even if he did not mean to do so in the first place.

“I don´t think that’s selfish,” Vimes said, opening his eyes, “I am glad you are here, with me. But you deserve better. You should be doing political stuff and changing the fate of nations with someone who understood all your books, who can always say the right things. ”

Lord Vetinari stared at him for a moment.

“Listen to me,” said Vetinari, taking hold of Vimes’s shoulder and patting it, “you are a man of actions, not of words. You can´t be corrupted, you have never taken a bribe, you carry the law around with you. You make Assassin traps to keep me safe and have caught several ones in them. You go after people who are my enemies with such force that you worked yourself to the ground and frightened a large part of the city’s important members. You shouted at the last mad Patrician when he insulted me, even if you were in a state of extreme pain at the time. You wash Wuffles when he is dirty. After saving my life and bakery you ask for cupcakes. And you think it is all worth it, every single day of pain and danger and uncertainty, to stay with me. Frankly, I do not care one bit that you do not always say the right things, because that makes you who you are.”

“You were not really a part of my worldview, or plan,” Vimes managed, his voice soft, several moments afterwards as Vetinari took his hand absently, as he always did when he felt he had said too much, or crossed some kind of boundary. The metal of Vetinari’s ring was warm against his skin.

Most people, when they saw either Vimes or Vetinari wearing their rings assumed that it was a simple prop or an heirloom and let it go. And they allowed them, for reasons of secrecy, privacy and discreetness. But Drumknott would smile at them sometimes, when he thought they were not looking, like now. Other people demanded the truth, which was never really given completely.

Vetinari let go of him slowly and gestured for him to follow, opening the door that lead to their flat above the bakery. Vimes followed him, listening to Wuffles’s exited barking.

 


	2. Chapter 2

At work, Vimes was very careful to never address the tall, black clad baker as anything but simply ‘Lord Vetinari’ and perhaps, in dire cases and in a hurry, as ‘Vetinari.’ But just as he considered that being a copper was the only job he was good at and properly qualified for, people seemed to gather that Lord Vetinari was not only the only one’s orders he would ever obey, but also that he was the only person Vimes would ever show absolutely no tolerance for other people talking shit about him. Besides, most of the watchmen remarked to each other over the hot cocoa in the canteen, they had seen the baker, who did not look like one, but rather like someone who had a scorpion pit in one of their rooms and might possibly rule the world in secret, and you did not disturb people like that.

  
Captain Vimes stood up from his desk when Quirke of the Day Watch knocked so hard on the door that the wood cracked slightly, walked in without so much as a greeting, and glared at the open window. Quirke did not approve of having your window open in the evening, and usually showed it by slamming it shut whenever he saw the chance.  
“Listen to me, Vimes,” said Captain Quirke angrily, leaning on the desk with one hand and waving his teacup threateningly with the other, “I have been hearing some rumors about you that I have been ignoring for years for your benefit. People are under the impression that this thing with you and that baker bigwig is some kind of an epic, heartrending love story and seem to support it and act all curly when I mention it. But let me tell you this- this is not how it is supposed to work at all. When a man in well-cut, expensive black clothes walks into your life, you are supposed to look away respectfully after your job as a watchman is done, not fit them into your dance card.”  
“I was not aware of that my dance card was any of your business-“Vimes replied testily as he lit a cigar. Captain Quirke looked with distain at Vimes’s clean shirt and general air of content.

  
Wuffles the Terrier looked up from his basket which was currently placed underneath desk, where he has been dozing.  
“It is a disgrace, Vimes. Of course, this is just a rumor that has somehow gotten so much interest and support that everyone thinks it is true. People looking into things, staring at shadows, something like that. As if a man like that would throw away his career, reputation and general things for someone like you,” muttered Quirke, slamming his tea cup down on his desk so hard that it broke and stepped closer to Vimes, who absently noted that he could hear footsteps outside the office.  
“Men like him, all suave and fancy clothes and smirks, they don´t care about someone like you, they just use you to do the dirty work,” Quirke continued, with the look of a man who believes that he is on a roll,” For the past eight years, you’ve arrested thousands of criminals, at least fifty co-workers around the disc have made reports about you, your pay has risen, none of your socks have had holes in them and you have still kept that bloody baker around. Because you like to think that he owes you for saving his life, right? That he _needs_ you-“

  
“One more step, man who smells like eggs and bribes in the form of food and metal,” said Wuffles the Terrier in Canine so pristine it gleamed, “and I will bite you very hard on the ankle. It will hurt; you will eventually go to a medical professional who will find your various bribes on your person. You will lose your job and never try to take my dog biscuits and eat them ever again, nor come close to my masters.”

  
The door opened, to reveal a tall man with a fussy beard and a glare like a dropping icicle.  
After about four seconds of being glared at as well as feeling the temperature of the room drop by the second, Captain Quirke hurried away. Lord Vetinari watched him go and listened to the audible drop in conversation on the floor below them.  
Wuffles wandered towards Lord Vetinari to greet his God enthusiastically.  
“What are you doing here?” Vimes asked, fastening his leather cape absentmindedly after carefully throwing the remains of the broken cup in the wastepaper basket.  
Vetinari turned around to face Vimes, a faint smile on his lips, and for a moment, just a moment as the wind changed, Vimes could see the Robes of Office sweeping the floor, the sigil ring, the air of complete control and power. And then it was gone, and the Captain saw a tall man standing in front of him dusting off whole wheat flour off his hands, as Vimes put the things on his desk into something resembling order as fast as he could, while Vetinari was somewhat distracted.  
“I fear there is a criminal in the bakery, Captain,” said the baker calmly as he brushed some sugar off his wrist. The same thief that you arrested when we met, I believe. I felt that it would only be appropriate to fetch you.”

  
If you looked closely, there was a hint of a smile in the tall man’s voice, even if his face was blank as he nudged the little dog’s basket closer to the wall with the toe of his boot so that he could walk closer to Vimes, who was halfway to the door.  
The Captain nodded, noticing that there was a definite hint of the aroma of almonds and strawberries in the air.  
“I am doing my job as a concerned citizen to let the Watch know,” Lord Vetinari continued, eyes gleaming, “Why do you ask? Are you going to arrest me for interrupting your paperwork? Should I feel as if I should demand handcuffs?”  
Vimes decided that the wisest decision in this situation was to ignore that remark for the time being. Lord Vetinari was a man who never let a conversation really end. They had been having some conversations for several years running, with no end in sight. Most memorably the ones that went along the lines of “You keep giving me things when I save your life and all those things are kind of grandiose, why would you do that?” and “Why do you constantly mention me to practically everyone you meet?” and of course the big one: “We are actually engaged.”

  
For a moment, Lord Vetinari’s hand lingered on Vimes’s arm, brushing the soft, worn fabric of his brown, regulation Watch shirt. None of his shirts had ever been so clean until he had started living with the taller man, nor had he owned so many pairs of clothing that were whole and smelt like soap.  
“Now kiss each other lovingly,” Wuffles the Terrier said encouragingly, wagging his tail.  
Bakers did not have good hours, Vimes thought, but neither did most coppers, so it evened out. It was almost midnight, which meant that Vimes’s night off was starting, and Vetinari’s work at the bakery was about to begin.  
The two men exited the Watch House without a word, careful not to let their shoulder’s brush as they walked.  
“Farewell, lady werewolf,” barked the little dog towards the room that smelled like soap, armor polish and socks in metal boxes.  
“Lord Downey is under the impression that everything I sell him that is not a special edition might in fact be so, and that it is a part of my excruciatingly slow, horrible revenge,” Lord Vetinari said cheerfully, taking Wuffles’s leash out of his pocket and fastening it swiftly. Wuffles gave the happy bark of a dog doing his best to keep a marriage happy by ensuring that his masters spent a great deal of time together.

  
“Captain Quirke thinks that I should be fired because of you. I think we should send him some special cinnamon buns anonymously. The ones with the toffee that makes you unable to open your mouth for a week. Or the ones with the chili-chocolate from Klatch, they would be good, right? You have been very upset recently because of all those mimes; we have lots of cinnamon buns in storage,” said Vimes simply, turning around the corner automatically, obeying the soles of his boots, which were like the best foot gloves. It was a strange feeling, Vimes mused as he watched his lordship nod in a businesslike manner to a passing Drumknott, knowing that your beloved could kill people within seconds.  
“I am bound to tell you that we Assassins do not do business with men of Captain Quirke’s financial situation, sadly enough. Nor is it a part of your duties as a watchman to suggest those things,” remarked the taller man, a faint smile gracing his lips for a split second.  
"Well, sometimes I have this odd feeling that as a part of my duties I should shout at a lot of aristocrats, break into the Oblong Office and grin in a threatening manner whenever your name comes up in conversation,“ Vimes replied as the other man reached inside his robes for a large set of keys, opened the door to the bakery and turned the sign so it said, in Leonard of Quirm‘s handwriting: ‘open for business.’  
It was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Engagements lead to weddings, right? Now with extra Wuffles.

Rufus Drumknott smiled faintly took off his coat to hang on its peg, listening to the sounds of chopping from the kitchen as his lordship moved around. The wedding invitations had been speedily delivered by the  Post Office and labeled as express, the young man mused as Wuffles the Terrier wagged his tail in greeting, and the unlicensed thief named Aurar struggled angrily, the handcuffs glinting in the light.

“Why are you trying to burgle this bakery?” asked Vimes, “You know what happened to you last time, why would you bother? Do you want me to tackle you to the floor again?”

“No, you stupid copper, the only way you will find out the truth is by talking to Mr. Wonse, and he’s dead, so that won´t work,” said the burglar.

“That will not be a problem,” said a voice by the doorway, as Professor Hicks of the Unseen University walked inside with a long grocery list in his hand, “I am free to communicate with him tomorrow, after the first rehearsal of “ _’Tis A Pity She’s an Instructor in Unarmed Combat_ ” or “ _Starcrossed,_ ” we have not decided yet which to perform.

“Good evening, Professor,” said Lord Vetinari calmly, “how may I assist you?”                       

“I will have your entire stock of cinnamon buns, if you could be so kind. It helps with keeping people quiet when I am working, you know. Incidentally, I got your invitation; it’s the arresting fellow with the scowl, correct? My congratulations.”

“Indeed,” replied Lord Vetinari, nodding as he handed over a huge wooden box, “the rest of the cinnamon buns will be sent along.”

The door closed, and Drumknott wrote down the address of the building the goods would arrive at, while Captain Vimes continued staring at the burglar. After a moment, Lord Vetinari joined him in staring at the man, who was squirming and looking like he was sorely regretting this, but stayed close mouthed all the way through the streets of the city and until he was inside the clean cell in Treacle Mine Road.

““There is probably a world where you got it right! Proper!” said the man, waving his hand towards the city as a whole, the world as a whole.”

Vimes turned his head around, the smoke from the newly lit cheap cigar a faded grey in the faint light.

“Probably,” Vimes said, his other hand on the faintly rusty doorknob.

“Just wait until the new Patrician gets a hold of you. You mess stuff up all the time, Captain Vimes. I’ve heard about you, as well as that baker fellow. You think that this is going to end happily. You just want to rewrite an end you cannot change.”

The watchman looked at the younger man, whose voice had become high and full of conspiracy. The door closed behind Vimes and he headed towards home.

Well, he tried to go home, his boots telling him where to go, as the exhaustion was constantly attempting to make him sleepwalk. A hand was laid on his elbow, and the rest of the human emerged from a shadow.

Downey of the Assassin’s Guild nodded at Vimes, who shot him a suspicious look.

“No,” Vimes said shortly, before the other man had the chance to make a sound, “Lord Vetinari is not trying to poison you by putting arsenic in the frosting.”

“I am not here because of your housemate’s culinary adventures, Captain. The Patrician wants you.”

Vimes shook his head, glaring at the Assassin.

“I am engaged, and since he has cut our funding completely, I have no desire to meet him. Tell him that you did not find me.”

“Incidentally, I would like to know on behalf of the Guild, where Albert Selachii is, the one who tried to look for you and Lord Vetinari two days ago on the Patrician’s orders?”

“He is spending his time wisely on the roof of the bakery with a very large bear trap and smeared with a lot of honey, when I last saw him,” Vimes replied, saluting back at Sergeant Colon, who was proceeding up the street.

“Indeed, I suspect that it is the bear trap that I became great friends with throughout the years. I received your invitation to the wedding, would you like a new bear trap? Or perhaps something more suitable for married life, like a set of knives?” said Downey, nodding in farewell and disappearing into the crowd.

 

Sergeant Angua stood up from the table in the canteen, pushing away her vegetable soup as the entire Watch House became eerily silent and still. Watchmen stood in their tracks, with paperwork and teacups and jars of armor polish in their hands, and all of them stared in the same direction.

Captain Quirke stood in the doorway of the Watch House, holding a simple letter in his hands as if it was the most horrifying thing he had ever come across in his life. Every single watchman had gotten one earlier today, and the big glass jar had been handed around for money to buy a nice present for the Captain and his beloved. The letter was probably not even addressed the Captain Quirke, but one that had been left around in order to find some armor polish so that one could look presentable at least.

“What is this?” shouted Quirke at the assembled watchmen, who looked at each other in slight confusion, as most of them had been in deep discussion on what was an appropriate gift for people such as the Captain and the Assassin baker. Nobby had been sent to the pet shop to buy an expensive dog toy for Wuffles, so that he would not feel left out as Lady Sybil had suggested earlier that day when she had been the key witness to an accident involving a mime artist, a mirror and a lost swamp dragon looking for some tasty coal.

“It is a wedding invitation for Sergeant Colon,” remarked Angua, walking towards the outraged man, “we are trying to decide what to give them as a present-“

“This is nonsense! You are all acting as if this is actually a bloody love story instead of an elaborate ruse or something of that sort. This is just something that you have all got into your heads is something acceptable and heartwarming instead of-. This should be stopped, all of this!”

The man waved the letter in the air, totally oblivious of the darkening expressions and narrowed eyes around him. Most of them were wondering if they could hit him over the head and inform everyone that he had been in a clear state of temporary insanity.

“They are not doing anyone any harm, and minding their own business,” said Angua, feeling her nails lengthen, “getting married to someone you have been engaged to for around eight years is not a crime, nor should it be, sir.”

“Hah, the unlicensed thief downstairs in the cell says otherwise. He says that the new Patrician has said that the Assassin bastard is really the one who is secretly manipulating the entire city and beyond while maintaining his cover as a baker! That is treas-“

“And you believe this unlicensed thief, who makes up these insane rumors without any sort of evidence?” said Mr. Boggis of the Thieves Guild, who knocked politely on the door behind Quirke. “I believe that Vetinari is in fact more powerful and skillful all around than just another Assassin who happens to also be a very talented baker.  But just because a man looks like he rules the world and has piercing light blue eyes does not make him the ruler of an entire city. The job of Patrician makes you mad, and it looks like the newest one is beginning to lose some of his marbles, if you ask me. I am here for Mr. Aurar, your prisoner.”

“Good evening, Mr. Boggis,” said Carrot cheerfully as Mr. Aurar was handed over into the hands of Mr. Boggis’s bodyguards, indicating towards the neatly wrapped present in the thief’s hands, “did you receive an invitation to the wedding as well?”

“Indeed. I suggest, Captain Quirke, that you regard the inevitable rings on the couple’s rings as simple props in order for criminals to believe that they are in fact family men so that the criminals will not make a fuss, since you cannot handle the truth,” said Boggis coldly, regarding the captain with the same look he usually employed when people put underpants on their heads and started raving on about the need for a king of the city.

Quirke looked around at the watchmen for assistance, but was only met with angry and hostile expressions, so he trampled outside for someone to arrest, brushing rudely against Sergeant Colon who had met Nobby on his way to the pet shop and who was holding a large paper bag which held a squeaky hippo and a blue blanket.

 

Vimes had heard that the evening before one’s wedding was a strange event, filled with nerves and missing clothes and waylaid plans.

However, he was half crouching on the bathroom tiles in the small flat above the bakery which as usual smelled like rising dough, caramel and cooking fruit, soaked to the bone, wondering how such a small dog could get that amount of dirt on his coat.

“Days spent finding the best smells in order to present myself as a distinguished elderly dog at the ceremony and you take it away, replacing it with this soap. This is a horrible punishment for what was done with purely good intentions, man who smells like cigars and shaving cream,” said Wuffles the Terrier, looking miserable.

Lord Vetinari handed Vimes something, and Vimes tried to wipe some of the dog shampoo from his cheeks, eyes and forehead before even attempting to see what it was. Instead he looked at Vetinari’s retreating back.

“I thought, that perhaps this would be appropriate,” said the taller man softly as he turned his head to look at Vimes, who was trying to reply without getting a mouthful of soapy water and dog hair.

In the soft, golden light of the sunrise through the window, Lord Vetinari’s  normal black suit looked faintly like a robe, Vimes thought, or perhaps it was just the shampoo in his eyes.

It was a raspberry and almond cupcake with butter cream frosting.

Wuffles the Terrier shook himself and then licked Vimes’s other hand hopefully for a bite of the treat that was placed on a shelf. Vimes stared at the pastry, ineffectively shielding himself from the drops of water as Wuffles continued to shake himself and ignore the fluffy towel Vimes absentmindedly tried to dry him with.

Downstairs, Lord Vetinari folded the grated Klatchian chocolate into the whipped heavy cream and reached for the nearest clean apron, which had the slogan: Kiss the Baker embroidered on it, a present from Vimes in reply to Vetinari’s present of staring down the current Patrician when he refused to give the watchmen money for ridding the city of mime artists. Outside, there was the reassuring ringing of a bell, and a loud voice proclaiming that all was well for the time being.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it has been a long time. But RL has been incredibly busy.

The morning of the day of the wedding arrived, bright and sunny, the breeze wafting through the window of the rooms above the bakery. The sounds of the citizens of Ankh-Morpork going to work, or just walking about filled the rooms.  
Lord Vetinari took off the leash which had been fastened to Wuffles’s collar as his morning walk was over. It was important to tire Wuffles out so that he would not cause too much trouble. Even if he was not as energetic in his old age as he had been as a puppy, this was a big day, filled with people and scents and inevitably, lots of food dropped on the floors which the little terrier would find and eat.  
The wedding itself would be at noon, the tall man thought as he looked at the suit he would be wearing to the event, which was draped over the bed in the bedroom, made of the finest black material, and sent to him by his aunt, who had remarked that she would not tolerate him wearing his usual shabby black on a day like this. Lord Vetinari looked at the other bedroom, where he knew that Vimes’s outfit was kept.  
Strangely, he thought, his housemate had looked him straight in the eye last night, just before they had retired for the night, and said in a tone that tolerated no argument: “There will be no red tights and absolutely no garters. I am not going to wear them.”  
“I do not know why you would think that I would demand you to wear those articles of clothing, but I accept your demands, even if the mental image is interesting.”  
Vimes had made a strange sound in his throat, and adjusted his pillow, a completely unnecessary movement.  
"Why have we suddenly got a pair of harem pants framed on the wall in the kitchen?" asked Vimes, slipping under the blankets as Lord Vetinari put his shaving mirror and their razors in their usual place, to be easily found in the morning.  
“I believe it is one of two wedding presents from my aunt,” said Lord Vetinari calmly, “she will be arriving in the city tomorrow. The frame arrived yesterday. I am not sure of their purpose, perhaps it is a decorative piece.”  
“Maybe it is for our honeymoon,” Vimes muttered, and Lord Vetinari stared at him for several seconds.  
“I assume it is more likely it is a joke, Samuel. Good night to you,” said Vetinari, and adjusted the sheets on the bed before lying down.

Now the day had come, Lord Vetinari mused. The years and months and moments leading to it had for some reason, felt like a series of accidents and moments of ear-burning embarrassment as well as ones where they had both wondered how they had managed to get to this point without screwing absolutely everything up. Granted, a lot of their success had to be the fact that they often worked at different times of the day, spending a great deal of time by at work with colleagues and by themselves. They spent most of their waking hours away from each other, and therefore getting the distance they both needed in a relationship. So that they spent the time they had together making the most of it.   
It had been the only logical thing, getting married after all these years of being engaged, he thought, even if none of it had been in any of their plans for their lives. But plans often got in the way, and having someone like Vimes around definitely made life more interesting. Sybil had said, in a matter of fact tone when he had handed her the wedding invitation: “Trust me on this, Havelock, I see him running around town and causing all sorts of trouble by just being himself: you will never be bored.”  
Everything was ready, the tall man thought as he looked over the guest list, the menu, and all the things that were important to have at an event like this. He began untying his apron, and took the cravat in his hands, inspecting it, before sitting down on the wooden chair beside the bed and started to get dressed. 

The breastplate was new and better polished than his old, dented one had ever been, Vimes thought as he buckled it on. His red cloak, which had showed up one day on the top of his dresser, just like the whole socks had appeared in his drawers was washed and smelled like expensive soap. The boots had been mended. This was, he realized, what the uniform of the Captain of the Night Watch was supposed to look like on a good day.  
Vimes stepped out of the second bedroom to be greeted with the sight of Rufus Drumknott standing rather proudly in the middle of the living room in his new clerk’s robe, looking up at Vimes and pointedly showing him the velvet box containing the rings before sticking it in his inner pocket. Drumknott’s eyes gleamed in the sunlit room.  
Vimes nodded at him, his senses unusually sharp, like they were when he was chasing a criminal, as he heard the carriage stop outside the bakery. Lord Vetinari appeared soundlessly at his elbow and Vimes turned his head to look at him.  
“Are you ready?” asked the taller man gravely, looking straight into Vimes’s eyes.  
“Yes,” replied Vimes, willing his stomach to stop twisting itself into knots at the thought of all the people that would be guests, looking at them. But he knew that the people needed to be there, they needed witnesses that the world could change, that things like weddings between two members of the same sex could happen, that there was some hope in the world for everyone. Besides, the guests had helped them along, in one way or another, throughout the years.

When they were outside the bakery, and the door to the carriage was opened for them by the driver, Vimes somehow managed to speak, even though he had felt like his mouth had been glued shut on the way down the stairs.  
“I am not good at public performances. You know that.”  
“Well,” Lord Vetinari said, and sat down inside, “you will have plenty of support. And you are not, as you feared, wearing red tights.”  
Vimes nodded at sat down beside him, the door closing behind him. Drumknott waved goodbye politely, holding Wuffles in his arms. Another carriage would arrive shortly, for him and the canine.  
Both Vimes and Vetinari were silent as the carriage sped through the city. Several times, Vimes opened his mouth to say something, but always changed his mind, seeing the expression on the other man’s face as he looked outside the carriage, at the city around them. After a few moments, as Vimes saw the mass of watchmen in front of the building in which they were headed for. He felt himself straighten up and becoming alert, years as a watchman kicking in. The building was a large house which Madam had suggested, as both men had been averse to temples or churches of any kind and wanted the event to be as respectfully low profile as they could possibly get away with.  
Finally, the carriage stopped, and Vimes could feel Vetinari’s hand resting on his shoulder for a brief moment before the door was opened and the dark clad man stepped out. Vimes was beside him a few seconds later, returning both Angua and Nobby’s salutes.  
The noise level had dropped dramatically as the crowd of guests, who were walking towards the entrance of the building, noticed the two men.  
However, there were a few sentences that could be heard over the general amicable chatter of the crowd, as Lord Vetinari and Captain Vimes walked inside the building.  
“They are getting married for the best of reason of all, I believe” Otto could be heard saying to the air, his accent suspiciously light, as if he wanted to be understood completely.

"They are a bit crazy, you know, when it comes to each other. Did you hear about all those mimes? I don´t even want to know what would happen if they would be separated for longer than a month. The city would probably burn down,“ said an incredibly averange looking man, who absentmindedly took a bacon roll from the large bowl a maid was carrying into the room where the reception would be held.   
“They will save a fortune on the catering, at least,” said another voice, the tone slightly obscured by the sound of high heels on pavement stones.

Vimes tried not to listen to the comments and instead focused on moving forward at a reasonable pace, beside Lord Vetinari, who had linked his arm through his own, as If they were just going to take a pleasant evening walk and had just happened to meet a crowd on their way to their destination. The watchman found himself putting on the most neutral facial expression he could manage and tried not to fidget. Lord Vetinari looked the very picture of ease, and calmly opened the door to what Vimes mentally called ‘the waiting room’, in which they would spend their time until the ceremony would start and the guests would all be seated. Usually, a couple would be separated and put into different rooms. But somehow, everyone who tried to bring up that subject had faltered when Lord Vetinari’s light blue eyes had met their own. Sometimes, Vimes wondered if they got the unsettling feeling that they were talking to the ruler of the city, if they caught glimpses of the Robes of Office. More likely, they were just alarmed by his grave expression. The door closed behind the two men.  
“It is a show,” Vimes said, looking around the room, which had a few chairs and a very large mirror. In the corner there was an old table, on which there were several toiletries and a large notebook, probably for the purpose of fixing things for the last minute. He was reminded of how the Opera House looked like backstage.  
“Weddings, my dear Vimes,” said Lord Vetinari calmly, “have always been a show. People are very fond of them, as you have just observed. Let us give them a good one, yes?”  
Vimes decided not to mention the horrible, overwhelming feeling that something would inevitably go horribly wrong, like someone bursting through the door and shooting Lord Vetinari with a crossbow. The watchman nodded as a knock on the door was heard, and Madam, in a new lilac dress stepped into the room. Music wafted through the air, a mixture of a piano and some violins, he thought absentmindedly.  
“Come on, then,” said Madam, and waved her hand towards the corridor that would lead them into the main hall, smiling in their direction.  
Sam Vimes, who was bad with words and never, ever expected anything like Havelock Vetinari as a significant part of his life, reached out his hand hesitantly, shakily into the space behind him. Vimes closed his eyes, ignoring the powder blue sky, the smell of the flowers, the sound of the crowd outside. The waiting room was dark and silent. And Vetinari took his arm calmly, with the hand that did not hold the silver topped cane, as if it was nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

The hall was far larger and had more guests than Vimes had imagined, even if he had seen the guest list and been inside the hall several times during work. Something small, but classy too, Vimes heard a passing Lady Sybil say to a woman Vimes was remembered as being Emma, a woman who was a fan of scones and would often buy them at the bakery.  
Lord Vetinari’s blue eyes met Vimes’ own and the Captain found himself taking the other man’s arm automatically.  
“We’ll be practically hot-glued together in people’s minds after this,” Vimes muttered as they started walking.  
“I suspect that it is already like that in several alternative universes,” said Lord Vetinari quietly, ”especially the ones where you are my guard and keep saving my life, saluting me sarcastically and I keep making innuendoes and giving you expensive things you don’t want.”  
“Does this mean that you won’t keep giving me socks and free coffee?” asked Vimes, his voice so low that he could barely hear himself.  
Wearing the proper uniform of the Captain of the Watch, that is to say, that it was looking like it was supposed to do, had been a good decision, Vimes thought. It was not like those horrible fancy suits that he did not know how to move in. He just looked more polished than usual, and could tackle a thief to the ground if he or she tried to steal any of the food or gifts after the wedding had taken place.  
“Similar objects might be included in our wedding presents,” muttered the taller man.  


Vimes willed his legs to keep moving, holding just a bit too tightly to Lord Vetinari‘s arm as they walked down the aisle. He was hyperaware of every sound, every terrifying metalic sound of corsetry and faint jingle of knives as the Assassins stood up as the pair was seen in the doorway. It was not that he did not want to marry the man beside him, it was the fact that he kept having strange visions of someone appearing in the doorway and then seeing Lord Vetinari collapse, his leg bleeding.  
But they continued walking, through the heavy silence that always appeared to be at these kinds of events. Lord Vetinari looked faintly pleased and Wuffles the Terrier followed them, carrying the rings in a waterproof box in his mouth. Vimes and Vetinari stopped in front of the Archancellor, who had been the only one they had found fitting to the occassion, neither of them wanting to have a wedding inside a temple. The smell of pastry and various cooked fruit came from the other room, filling the air with its aroma.  
„You two want to be stuck with each other, then?“ asked the Archanencellor, and the two men nodded. Most of the crowd pretended not to notice the exchange, but there were some that were clearly pleased with how fast this ceremony was.  
„Safest to ask before the whole speech,“ continued the wizard,“before anyone starts shouting or fighting. A lot of Assassins here today, so I hope there will be minimal accidental deaths.“  
Vimes looked around, his policeman insticts taking over as always in times where he was on high alert. Madam Meserole and Mrs Palm were seated together at the front, chatting happily and Madam had clearly liberated some champagne from the drinks table, as there was a large bucket at her feet, filled with ice and Mrs Palm was holding two flutes. Watchmen stood proudly in front of their chairs, in gleaming armour. Nobby gave Vimes a thumbs up and smiled when he saw Vimes looking at him.  
The music changed, and the wizard caughed, and put a long scroll on the table front of him, preparing himself to read the offical document.  
„But who, you know,“ said one of the newest recruits in the Watch, who was standing right behind Mrs Palm,“ wears the trousers?“  
„I suspect,“ said Mrs Palm,“that preferably, no one wears trousers.“  
Vimes saw Angua bite the inside of her cheek adn then turned to face the wizard in front of him when the music faded.  
The ceremony itself was a blur, only interupted for a brief moment when one of the lapdogs of one of the more aristocratic ladies (that always appeared at weddings and no one seemed to be able to do anything about) started barking loudly. The lapdog was silenced by one growl from Wuffles, who did not even put down the ring box or turn around. Wuffles the Terrier was on a mission which he considered important and would not be distracted by some puppy who wanted treats.  


A few seconds later Wuffles placed the box obediently in his lordship‘s hand. Vimes had managed to say the right things at the right time, even if he sounded a bit annoyed to many of the Assassins. But around half of them had injuries or bad experiences related to trying to inhume Lord Vetinari due to the extensive protective measures Vimes had applied. Some of those measures included bear traps, well polished rooftiles and a decorative pond.  
Lord Vetinari slid the gold ring on Vimes‘s scarred finger, and Vimes did the same on Vetinari‘s pale bony finger. There were no words spoken between them. Instead they stared at each other for a long moment, which, to be truthful was how they spent most of their relationship communicating.  
The kiss was the briefest brushing of lips.  


When they pulled apart, Lord Vetinari’s eyes were gleaming. The applause was deafening, and Wuffles the Terrier was dancing around them, barking happily and wagging his tail. There was a flash of light and a terrifying scream as Otto Schriek took an iconograph for the Times, causing several Assassins to lift their hands to places on their bodies where the knives were kept.  
As the two men walked back down the aisle flower petals were thrown in the air above them, as well as some rice.  
It was a good day, Vimes thought as they stepped outside in the sunshine, to get a bit of fresh air before heading back inside for the reception dinner.


	6. In another world...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commander Vimes muses on the difference between his own timeline/world and the one he keeps getting glimpses of when interacting with the Patrician. One where they appear to be married.

The Patrician’s Palace was quiet and Lord Vetinari was smiling at him with a certain glint in his eyes that Vimes knew from far too much experience boded trouble. He wasn’t sure if he’d said something wrong or if he’d done something that pleased the Patrician, since the man was holding onto him. There was no escape, no excuse he could make about needing to leave so that he could chase criminals.

“You look pleased, my lord,” Vimes ventured, aware that he was too tired to figure out the intricate politics that could cause this reaction from the Patrician. He had attended far too many diplomatic meetings in the last few days.

“That’s because you think that everything is better when I’m here with you, Commander,” Lord Vetinari said, using Vimes’s shoulder to support himself as they strode down the hallway in the Patrician’s Palace. Golden leaves fluttered around on the stone floor, doubtlessly having broken into the building by craftily slipping inside through some open window.

Commander Vimes glanced at the man beside him, who didn’t even try to hide the impish grin on his face. It had been years since he’d last seen that grin.

“The city is certainly not a complete mess when we are both here,” Vimes said, picking up the pace. The other man had longer legs and was holding onto his shoulder since he’d forgotten his cane in the Oblong Office. As if that man would ever forget where he placed his cane or anything else he considered to be vital to him. He was the sort of a man who didn’t even forget where he’d put his secret reading glasses. Vimes had even heard him reminiscence about the boots he’d bought after graduating as an Assassin. Well, the memory of buckling on that dented and rusty breastplate in the harsh dawn of his first day as a watchman had never slid away from him either. “Having you around the place is just practical.”

It had been a difficult morning, filled with settling arguments between Guild leaders during the monthly meeting in the Rats Chamber and dealing with several arrests of dangerous murderers who had tried to break out of the cells and attack his officers.

But the air was as clean as it got in Ankh-Morpork and Lord Vetinari was still grinning at him as they walked side by side, the weight of the Patrician’s bony hand on his shoulder. The man probably didn’t need nearly this much support to walk, but Vimes wasn’t going to shrug him off for any amount of money. Not that he needed money these days.

There was a long silence as they strode on in silence, bathed in the bright light of an autumn morning and listening to their own footsteps echoing in the hallway. Vimes could feel Lord Vetinari’s eyes on him as they reached the door that led to Lord Vetinari’s quarters, where he’d told Vimes he kept his extra walking stick. Lord Vetinari released his grip on Vimes’ shoulder and adjusted his stance. Vimes waited, aware that Vetinari was standing so close to him that reaching out and brushing his fingers over the exposed skin of the Patrician’s wrists would be so very easy. They wouldn’t be seen.

“Keep me informed of goings-on in the Watch, will you Commander?” asked the Patrician, “we don’t want these criminals to get the chance to get away after pursuing them for so long and making such an effort in assembling the paper trail.”

“Yes, sir,” Vimes replied as Vetinari turned the knob on the door. For a split second, Vimes thought that he could see the glint of a gold wedding ring on the Patrician’s finger as his hand moved. But when he blinked it was gone.

“Do not let me detain you, Commander,” the Patrician said, nodding at Vimes and closing the door behind him. 

Vimes knew that there must be alternative worlds or timelines where Vetinari had him killed, worlds where they hated each other and loved each other. There were worlds where they murdered each other, worlds were they got along much better, worlds where they both served the monarchy. So it was only right that there was at least one world where they married each other.

Perhaps they were happy.

Perhaps they had married for love instead of convenience.

Perhaps somewhere, things worked out. One could only hope.

The fact that there was some sort of a leakage between that world, if the fact that he could see the ring was any indication that it was connected to their relationship, must be a positive sign about the relationship they had here. And if Vimes was seeing wedding rings and cleans socks and occasionally some flour in the Patrician’s hair, the reverse must also be true. The Patrician must also be able to see some small signs of happiness, even if it belonged to a different set, in a different world. But perhaps seeing the possibility of happiness was enough on the days when nothing appeared to work out.

Vimes headed back to Pseudopolis Yard, feeling oddly light as he saluted other watchmen and searched the crowd for criminal behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finally updated this old story. I've been thinking about finishing it for a long, long time but never quite found the right ending. I think that the reader can decide for himself or herself what happens after the wedding, but I wanted to end the story on a thoughtful note.  
> I hope I succeeded.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
